Jim Gaffigan: Beyond the Pale

[repeated line]

Jim Gaffigan:
[singing in falsetto] Hot Pockets.

[first lines]

Jim Gaffigan:
[as everyone cheers him coming out on stage] All right, all right! Stop it, you look like you're on drugs. [breathy tone, almost whispering] Oh, he's a pale fella. I didn't know he was gonna be so pale! Oh, that shirt looks like a tablecloth. Is that a shirt or a blouse? I think he's wearing his mother's blouse. His pants look dirty. I wonder if he's wearing a thong? I didn't wonder that; now I do. This is all he does. This is weird! I can barely hear what he's saying. Vaguely.

Jim Gaffigan:
[comparing pie to cake] That's like liquid cake, isn't it? Pie can't compete with cake. Put candles in a cake, it's a birthday cake. Put candles in a pie, someone's drunk in the kitchen. "Go check on Grandma." Pie can't compete. You ever hear of a hot chick jumping out of a pie? It's too messy. "I'm here!" "Go take a shower."

Jim Gaffigan:
If you've never been to a Catholic mass, that is the *longest* experience of your *life*! Makes you look forward to going to the DMV.

Jim Gaffigan:
I try to rationalize what I eat, but there's some foods there's no reason to ever eat. Like a Cinnabon? I mean, tell me that place is run by Satan. You ever eat a Cinnabon? You have to take a nap halfway through. I think I need some insulin. I need a wheelbarrow for my half a bun. It's kinda generous calling that a bun. It's the size of a beanbag chair. Should I sit in it or eat it? Hey, I can sit in it *and* eat it. This is sticky without pants on.